


Sons

by navaan



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Ambiguity, Bat Family, Dreams and Nightmares, Family, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gen Fic, Robins (DCU)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 16:03:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/pseuds/navaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick gets hit by fear gas and has a nightmare, and years later Bruce thinks it might have been something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sons

**Author's Note:**

> This is me still trying to deal. :P

In the first few weeks following his parent's death Dick had occasionally cried himself to sleep.

It hadn't happened often with him feeling too numb and too occupied with finding their murderer, with meeting Batman and finding a new home in Gotham City. Only sometimes in the quiet hours after the big, dark manor had gone silent the memories suddenly hit him full force. Then he had curled up in bed and cried, while always trying to be silent in his grief, probably trying not to upset his new guardians. But somehow Alfred had always known despite the boy's best efforts and it had never been possible to hide much of anything from Bruce Wayne, who even when it came to grieving children and changing family dynamics was taking pride in being the world's greatest detective.

But that had been two years ago. And Bruce knew that by now nightmares were a much rarer occurrence for Dick. Of course, nightmares and bad memories like these never really went away completely - Bruce understood that better than anyone else - but after living with them for so long, Dick had learned to sleep without waking up every night.

But tonight he _was_ tossing and turning caught in the grip of nightmares.

And Bruce was the one blaming himself for it.

They hadn’t been prepared for the Scarecrow - not tonight when they had been after Two-Face and Mr. Freeze. Bruce had long ago decided that it was Batman’s job to always be prepared. But tonight he hadn't been sufficiently prepared for everything the city had thrown at them. Instead he'd failed. Robin had gotten a lungful of Crane’s latest fear gas and no villains had been taken down at all.

Now here he was sitting at Dick's bedside, watching over him while he struggled through his drug induced nightmares. They had administered an antidote half an hour ago to help Dick's body fight off the toxin, but at this point there was nothing more they could do but wait. He balled his hands into fists, frustrated at his own helplessness.

“You should go to bed, sir. You too need to rest.”

“I can't, Alfred,” he said, leaning forward, unclenching his hands and folding them in front of his face, leaning his brow against his fingers and hiding his expression from view. “The least I can do is stay by his side.” The nightmares brought on by fear gas were never pleasant. It had nearly killed him before, and Dick was only a kid. So Bruce wanted to be here in case he was needed. In case this got worse.

“No,” the boy whispered, still in the grips of whatever bad dream it was he was caught up in.

Bruce moved a little closer to the edge of his chair and reached out to brush a hand across Dick's sweaty forehead, hoping the touch would somehow help Dick to find his way out of the nightmare.

“I'm sorry, Dick,” he whispered. “We'll get you through this.”

Dick didn't wake up for nearly 29 hours and when he first opened his eyes, he was still pretty much out of it. But his body was coping and the worst of it had passed.

“Where's he?” he slurred and Bruce had no idea who he was asking for. “Where's he? Is he alright?”

“Who?”

“Your son,” Dick whispered urgently, but his eyes were already closing again.

“Another nightmare,” Alfred concluded, feeling Dick's forehead tentatively. “He's still a little feverish.”

“He's still fighting the drug,” Bruce said, nodding. They looked at each other, both aware how close they had come to losing Dick tonight. But although they were both still worried, they could feel the tension gradually leave them.

The boy would be fine in the morning.

= =

And Dick _was_ fine the next morning. He'd caught a few more hours uninterrupted sleep and insisted he was well enough to go to school. Of course, Alfred heard none of his protests and insisted instead that Dick took his breakfast in bed _and stay in_. Bruce carefully watched the scene from where he was leaning inside the door that led to Dick's room and allowed a small smile to light up his face.

When Dick looked up to meet his eyes he smiled back, and it seemed sincere but it wasn't yet his usual radiant smile. He still seemed a little tired.

“You're staying in bed,” Bruce told him to end the discussion, and Alfred nodded at him approvingly.

“Can I come out with you tonight?” Dick asked in a small voice.

Bruce had expected the question. “If nothing really big comes up, lets both stay in tonight. How does that sound?”

Dick nodded, looking as if that was more than alright with him.

= =

In the evening Dick was feeling well enough to wander through the manor, restless after staying still for so long. He followed Alfred around the house, less chatty than he normally was. Bruce consciously decided not to read too much into it. It had been a traumatic experience for all of them and Dick was still recovering.

So he left the two of them to it and made his way down to the cave alone.

A few minutes later – he was just checking on the newest police reports – Dick sneaked down the steps and settled down in his seat beside him. “I thought we were staying in tonight.” It wasn't a question. Just a statement.

“We are. Just making sure nothing important has come up.”

Dick looked up at the data and nodded, scanning the reports, but still looking a little uneasy about something.

“I wouldn't have left without telling you,” Bruce tired to reassure him.

“Okay,” he said, but made no move to get out of his chair or even change position.

He wouldn't have to be a detective to know that _something_ was still troubling Dick. For a moment he pondered what would be the best approach, not wanting to sound gruff after all that Dick had gone through in the last few days, but coming to the conclusion that the direct approach was usually the one that got him answers. “Is there something else you want to talk about?” he asked.

Dick gave him a quick sideways glance and then focused back onto the screen. Bruce waited for him to just shake his head or haltingly admit that the experience of being drugged with fear gas had unsettled him. Instead Dick kept himself very still, frowning a little, thinking about something.

When Bruce didn't say anything else, but kept looking at him expectantly, he turned around to face him and said in a nervous rush: “You don't have a son, do you?”

The question startled him a little, but he remembered all the feverish nightmares he'd experienced under the influence of Crane's poison and deduced Dick must have been unsettled by something he'd seen in his nightmares. It wasn't something that had come up between them until now. Dick had never shown any feeling of insecurity when it came to his place in this house. However, people didn't always realize what their greatest fear was, before they were confronted with it. Maybe something in his dreams had brought these fears to the front of his mind now that he'd lived through them. “You're the only kid around here, aren't you?”

Dick frowned. “I am.” But it still didn't sound sure. “I think I dreamed that I wasn't.”

“You know how Crane's gas works. It'll invoke your biggest fears.”

The boy shrugged helplessly. “I know. But this dream was different from the others. It wasn't so bad until the end. It was like having brothers.”

 _Brothers,_ Bruce thought amused. He couldn't imagine a house full of kids. It had been hard enough in the beginning to imagine Dick living here permanently. But he could imagine what it would mean for Dick to lose a brother – or what it would mean for him to lose another person he cared about. “It was a dream Dick. It was only a bad, bad dream.”

“I know,” he said. “It just felt _different_. I can't really forget about it.”

“You don't have to forget. Just move on. When you're ready.” He got up and gestured towards the stairs. “Lets go upstairs and ask Alfred to make us some of his delicious cocoa.”

Finally Dick smiled one of his real smiles that touched his eyes, jumped out of his chairs and practically bounced up the stairs.

= =

Bruce never thought of it again and Dick never mentioned it. There were more close calls, more injuries, more nightmares for both of them, but always old and new ones – not _this_ one.

Years later he buried Jason and it brought up the thought of a teenager telling him about losing a brother he'd never met in a nightmare. But when Dick came home with a grave expression on his face, things too complicated between them to just reach out to each other, the thought of Jason was too painful to even talk about anything. It was just not the right time to mention an incident from so long ago that he'd just remembered.

They look at each other silently, sitting in the cave just as they'd done so many years ago, and somehow Bruce was sure that Dick remembered it too.

= =

By the time that Damian, the son of two world's that seem incompatible, turned up and made himself part of their lives, Bruce had nearly forgotten all about it once again.

Tim wasn't happy about the new situation and just tried to avoid the boy at all costs and Bruce had expected this after the unfavorable first impression Damian had made . It was Dick, who normally managed to easily deal with people and who'd always been good with kids – even when he'd still been one –, who behaved out of the ordinary. Since he'd come home he'd been watching Damian with a frown, not reacting to any vile jibes Damian had thrown at him so far.

“He's your son,” Dick said, still frowning as if there was something he needed to remember. Bruce looked at him then, not sure if it was a good idea to say anything.

“He's also a little vile devil,” Tim piped in.

Bruce couldn't even disagree with him. “He's really my son, yes,” he said instead. “I can't turn him away.” Tim rolled his eyes at him, looking less than happy with the prospect, but not as if he needed reassurance.

“You shouldn't,” Dick agreed easily, his expression a little lighter already. “But you'll have your work cut out for you.”

He made an affirmative sound and turned around to get back to work. “I'll know who to call when he gets too much for me.”

Dick grimaced, but then smiled at him good-naturedly. He would probably even welcome the challenge, Bruce thought.

So he went back to work, beneath a house that was now actually full of boys and shook off the remaining shadow, the left overs from a nightmare a little boy had had so long ago. Batman wasn't going to be cowed by the remnants of that. There were enough dangers lurking in the reality of Gotham City's streets everyday.

 _These_ he could fight.

And he'd make even more sure now that all his boys would know how to fight them, too. Always.


End file.
